Somewhere in Bitterness
by Morralls
Summary: When Iroh returned from the war, devastated by the loss of his son, he didn't realize that he wasn't the only one grieving. He was surprised to find that his nephew needed him, and that maybe he needed his nephew too.


**Author's Note: I started this fic when I first began writing for Avatar, over a year ago. It's finally starting to come together, so I thought I'd start posting. Reviews inspire me to write faster. Just sayin'.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and gain nothing from writing this. **

It was raining the day the Dragon of the West reached Caldera City. It had rained every day since he returned from the Spirit World, alone and unsuccessful, as though the nation itself was mourning the loss of one of its best and brightest young men. He stopped at the mouth of the dormant volcano, peering down at the city beneath him with amber eyes that had dulled from what felt like a lifetime of grief. The streets were barren, and the rain pounded in sheets that even the thickest of cloaks couldn't withstand for long.

By all rights, this city should be _his_, and it should have been _his_ son named heir, but Fate, fickle mistress that she was, had a way of taking everything from someone and leaving them bare and empty, a husk of the person they once were. He knew that better than most.

He began the slow descent into the city, his gaze on the palace at the center, but his mind was miles away, at a Fire Nation colony port on the outskirts of the Earth Kingdom, in a small teashop that sat on the water.

_He stepped inside, his cloak wrapped securely around him, hood pulled over his head against the chill of the winter. The shop was doing steady business, even if he wouldn't call it crowded, and he selected a seat near a group of naval soldiers. He glanced at them with limited curiosity. They all appeared to be in the early stages of middle age: old enough to be experienced, but not so old that they had lost their taste for gossip, from what he heard. They were talking about the siege of Ba Sing Se and he tuned them out, not particularly interested in hearing their opinions on the subject._

_He thanked the waitress for his tea, then stared into the cup, lost in thought. He didn't care about Ba Sing Se anymore. He was mourning a far less widely known failure._

_The conversation of the sailors broke through his reverie, and this time, he listened. "So is that why the Dragon gave up on the siege? To go home and take his place on the throne?"_

"_No. Apparently, his son bit it in the battle, poor bastard. Anyway, the Dragon isn't getting the throne. His brother is."_

"_Wait. I thought that the General was the eldest?"_

"_He is. Got passed up, I suppose. Dunno why."_

"_I heard that it's because he gave up on Ba Sing Se. Azulon thought it was shameful."_

"_No way. He'd just lost his kid. Wouldn't any of us do the same? Surely he would be understanding. After all, he was the Dragon's father."_

"_Maybe it's just a temporary thing. Ozai's keeping the throne warm until the General gets home."_

_There was a derisive snort. "Brains like that, you could be one of those Water Tribe savages. D'you really think Ozai's gonna give up power like that?"_

"_You're both wrong. Ozai wasn't named Fire Lord at all. It was a coup. His wife disappeared that night. I heard that she got banished. You ask me, she did him in, Old Azulon. Power-hungry, like. And Ozai threw her out of the Nation so she didn't do the same to him."_

"_Ursa? No way. I grew up in Caldera City. I won't believe it. She was one of the most generous women I ever saw. Watched her give out money to beggars and the like, must have been a dozen times. My wife works in the palace kitchens, says that Ursa was the kindest noble she's known. There's no way."_

_The man was right about Ursa, but it was clear that he needed to go home and sort things out. He put a gold coin on the table, stood, and hurried out of the shop._

He sloshed through the rain, his eyes fixed on the palace gate, and, for the first time since his son died, he felt an emotion other than grief: Anger. He reached the palace and his pace quickened as he moved through the halls he knew so well. First, he would see his brother.

The room was exactly the same as when he had last seen it, save for the man sitting on the throne. At his entrance, the flames that followed the lines of the room flared up, shielding his brother from view. "Iroh, it is customary to kneel before the Fire Lord." Ozai said quietly.

"I'm aware of that, brother." Iroh replied, the subtext prominent in his voice. _I will never kneel to a usurper_. He stopped just before the flames, looking at the figure seated before him. "Where is your wife?"

"Gone." Ozai replied, apathy coloring his words. "I didn't expect you home so soon."

"I hadn't planned to hurry, but I heard some rumors and thought it best that I return quickly." Iroh replied.

"Listening to the gossip of commoners, Iroh? Don't you know better than to give heed to that drivel?"

"Often, I wouldn't pay attention to it, I admit, but already some of it has proven to be true. How is my nephew?" Iroh asked innocently.

Ozai scoffed. "He's weak. The boy hasn't left his room in weeks. I'm not having it."

"You would neglect him because he's grieving?"

"I will not tolerate that kind of shameful behavior from him! He is the Crown Prince! He-"

"Shut up, Ozai." Iroh interrupted, suddenly heartily weary of the conversation. "The finer points of fatherhood always did escape you. Leave the boy to me. I'll get him on his feet again." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and swept from the room. He knew that a confrontation between them was inevitable. With everything he knew, and everything he suspected, he was certain that the two of them would clash eventually, but at this moment, he didn't think he could stand to be in his brother's company for another moment.

He stopped outside the room, staring at the doors. His son had died in an explosion. A barrel of blasting jelly had ignited, Iroh knew. He had seen the body, burned until it was almost unrecognizable. He had checked and rechecked the inventory reports, and no blasting jelly had been registered in Lu Ten's area. It wasn't impossible for one barrel to be missed, but… "Know this, Ozai." Iroh murmured, far too low for his brother to hear. "If I find one shred of evidence that you were behind my son's death, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

He walked away. That investigation would come with time, and more resources. He could wait. He was a patient man, after all.

For now, he had other business to attend to. If his loss at Ba Sing Se had taught him anything, it was that the war needed ending. He had no qualms about overthrowing Ozai if he had to, but truth be told, he didn't really _want_ to be Fire Lord.

There was hope, though. The boy was young yet, and impressionable. It was possible that he could be molded, before his father got the chance to crush the humanity out of him. Perhaps Zuko would be just the antidote needed to Ozai's war mongering. Iroh hardened his heart against the boy. There was no sense getting sentimental about the child. If Zuko turned out to be the wrong tool, it would be easy to make his death look like a training accident and start over with his sister.

He had quite a lot of work to do.


End file.
